


In the Palace of Despair

by Lurea



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Age-gap Relationship, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Driven by Envy, Family Feels - Fraught Sibling Relationship, Family Secrets, First Kiss, First Time, Guilty Pleasures, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Sibling Incest, The Unchosen One, canon divergent fanfic - Freeform, manipulated into sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurea/pseuds/Lurea
Summary: On his coronation day, he had looked out into the sea of faces and found his brother’s eyes, and his brother’s gaze had held his like a steadying lifeline.  Then later, the Prince at his side in the War Room, offering no counsel but merely the comfort of his presence, as Logan struggled to be the King that his councilors and the kingdom wanted.  The two of them together feltright, in a way that no wife or lover could.  Born into the same world and for the same purpose:  to live up to the Hero-King, and to keep his kingdom safe.





	In the Palace of Despair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mieldyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mieldyne/gifts).



> Please read the tags. To be safe, I tagged 'underage' even though the Prince is an older teenager. But if age differences (or you know..incest, lol) bother you then do not read this fic! That said, I really hope you like it!!

Logan, King of Albion, stood in his War Room and looked out a window. Far below, on the graveled paths of the palace formal gardens, stood a teenage boy. He was holding a –a ball over the head of his young blonde companion. She laughingly tried to swat it out of his hands and he pulled it away. Then she punched him in the stomach and he dropped the ball. She snatched it up and darted off with it, behind a hedge, and the teenager followed until Logan could no longer see either of them. 

He let the curtain fall and considered. His brother, the Prince, was growing tall and strong. And a bit wild, if all the quiet observations that Logan had been making were true. There were, as yet, no signs that the Prince was anything _but_ tall and strong. Although he resembled the old King closely enough that some of the court called him young Sparrow. 

It wasn’t meant as a disparagement. So Logan told himself. 

It _wasn’t._

Despite the fact that Logan all-too-clearly resembled their mother, dark, thin and narrow-faced, rather than having Sparrow’s stocky, muscular frame. The Prince had also inherited the late monarch's wide blue eyes and wavy brown hair. 

Already lasses sighed over his younger brother. It might be well to keep the young Prince under somewhat...closer supervision than he had been. He was almost sixteen. Enough time to bring him to heel, to be Logan’s best and first supporter rather than a danger. 

Logan crooked a finger to one of his elite guardsman, one of his personal guards of the body, that he trusted implicitly. He briefly sketched out the particulars of his thought and Eudon nodded. And that was all that needed to be said. 

***

The teenager that some called Sparrow was currently over the moon, beyond the stars and somewhere far away from all normal, boring points of life, with his heart and soul and vision obscured by Elise’s blonde curls. They were huddled in one of the remoter areas of the palace gardens and he had bet her a hug that she could not throw her ball between one statue’s outstretched arms. His pulse had hammered fiercely when she took up the bet with merely a sideways look at him. Then failed. Then smiling so that her dimples showed in her cheeks, and blushing, she had moved into his arms. 

They had hugged before, she and he. But something felt different this time. The sweet curves of her body pressed into his, making him swallow hard. The scent of her hair went to his head like unwatered wine, until daring greatly, he slid one hand down the slope of her shoulders to linger at the small of her back. He needed only turn his head slightly and he could touch his lips to the soft skin of her throat, which nearly made him dizzy with anticipation. 

Then there was a rough hand on his shoulder, spinning him about, a leg thrust cunningly between his own, dropping him to the manicured green lawn until he was gaping up at his attacker. It was a bandit, there was no mistaking the rough clothing or the evil serrated knife in his hand. How had one gotten into the palace? Elise clasped her hands to her mouth and screamed. 

The bandit feinted a quick knife stab toward her and she ducked back, and ran around the far side of the hedge, still screaming. The Prince started to scramble to his feet and without even looking, the bandit stepped on his chest and knocked him flat. Then reached down with one hand and grabbed the collar of his shirt, twisting it tightly about his throat. 

“Unhand me,” Prince Adler snapped. “Or you’re a dead man!” 

The bandit laughed and put his knife to the Prince’s throat. “Unhand you? How about I unthroat you? There's good gold for your life.” 

Adler looked at him in horror. Someone would pay for his death? It couldn’t be. “You lie,” he spat. 

What he could see of the bandit’s expression went cold and still. He shifted until his knees were securely pinning the Prince’s shoulders down and yanked the neckline of his shirt down, exposing his throat. Adler’s mind was spinning—was this sneering bandit’s face the last thing that he would ever see? He felt the cold of the steel against his skin and closed his eyes reflexively. A sudden jerk and a stinging pain and he felt hot moisture spattered across his face. He waited numbly, but the hand on his clothing slackened and the knife fell away, followed by the bandit slumping sideways. He fell across the Prince, onto the garden path. 

“Your Highness, are you all right?” Voices and shouting, followed by heavy footsteps. The Prince opened his eyes. Several of his brother’s elite guardsmen were running toward him. He’d never been so glad to see them. One fell onto his knees next to him and heaved the bandit's body off his chest. 

Adler noted the arrowhead protruding from the base of the bandit’s throat with a distant kind of wonder. The dead man's gaze was staring and fixed, his lips frozen in a soundless snarl. “Good shot,” he managed and then his stomach revolted. He half-rolled away from the body and vomited. 

Strong hands on his shoulders supported him. When he finished, the guard pulled him to a sitting position and then produced a rag moistened with spirits. He wiped Adler’s face and neck. A spot on his neck stung, making him swear. The guard nodded. “Most o’ this is his blood, but he nicked you there. You’re a lucky man, Your Highness.” 

Adler stared at the stained rag with wonder, one hand up to his throat. He could feel the small cut now, clotting swiftly. He took his hand away and looked at his blood on his fingertips. “It wasn’t luck at all but thanks to your skill,” he said huskily. “What’s your name?” 

The guard’s eyes slid away and he seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “Eudon, Your Highness.” 

Another guard ran up. “Sir! His Majesty wishes to see the Prince immediately!” 

Eudon stood up and offered his hand to the Prince. The moment of awkwardness seemed to have passed. Adler took it and squared his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what Logan would want. He would hope merely to embrace his brother and exclaim over his near-miss, but Logan had changed so since their relationship had been on that sort of standing. Since... Aurora, he thought. Aurora was when it seemed like his brother had stopped regarding him with openness and love, and instead with the closed inscrutable gaze of a monarch. 

It was the monarch waiting for him in the War Room, with Sir Walter, Major Swift, Reaver and Hobson. Sir Walter exclaimed and rushed over to grab his arm. “Are you all right?” 

The Prince smiled shakily at him. “Yes, but mostly thanks to Logan’s guards.” Walter slid a warm arm over his shoulders and brought him to the group. Logan’s nostrils flared as he looked the Prince up and down, no doubt finding fault, the Prince thought resentfully. Adler smoothed his tunic down over his hips, and Logan’s eyes followed the motion. Then his lips thinned. 

“A threat to the Prince, in my palace, is unacceptable,” Logan said icily. “How did that..creature find its way onto the grounds?” 

“Leave that to me and Sir Walter, hey?” Swift replied. “Between us, we’re sure to shake something loose.” 

“I have contacts with, well, with everyone, as His Majesty knows,” Reaver purred. “My little mice will bring any crumbs to you, _mon roi._ ” 

Logan listened to them without changing expression. “Very well, but in the meantime, we will not tolerate our brother’s safety being at risk. It’s past time that he moved out of the nursery chambers. Place him in the rooms adjoining mine and my guards will secure both suites.” 

Sir Walter frowned. “The Queen’s chambers? But—” 

“There’s no need to go as far as all that,” the Prince protested. He felt his cheeks heating. Why must Logan treat him like an incompetent? 

“Capital idea, _mon roi,_ ” Reaver said. “It will be like a sleepy-time party every day!” 

Logan frowned at him and Reaver bowed extravagantly. Then he clicked his boots together and left the room. Sir Walter and Major Swift exchanged glances. 

“Well, perhaps it is for the best,” Walter said heavily. “I’ll inform the staff.” 

Once everyone had left, Adler looked at his brother shyly. “I guess I should thank you. Or your guards, at least.” 

Logan barely glanced up from the journals that he was frowning over. “No need, brother mine.” He snapped his fingers and one poked his head in the room. He looked familiar. Eudon again. The Prince gave him a small smile of recognition. “Take my brother to his new chambers and see to his needs.” 

“I’ll get my things,” the Prince began and Logan overrode him. 

“That is what a staff and servants are for, my dear brother.” He gestured to Eudon sharply. “Now go.” 

***

Logan worked over his accounts until late in the evening. Until past the time that he normally went abed. One or another of his guards had looked in silently during the evening, his nod confirming that his brother was settled into his new accommodations. Logan set his pen down and rubbed his eyes wearily. The numbers did not match, had not matched since that fateful day when he had first realized what he must do. He closed the book and pushed it away tiredly. 

Back in his bedchamber, he waved his man away. He was capable of removing his own clothing. Not for him, the indignities of age. He would meet his end far sooner. He wrapped his dressing gown around his body and slumped into his armchair by the fire, enjoying a last goblet of wine. As he sipped, his eyes strayed to the nondescript door in the paneling across the room. No sound or light leaked from around the edges. 

He finished his wine with a long sip and replaced the delicate glass goblet carefully on the table. Then he rose and made his way toward the door and hesitating one last instant, opened it. The room beyond was dimly lit by a low fire on the hearth. 

His brother, the Prince of Albion, lay on his stomach in the Queen’s elaborately curtained great bed. The side table held the remnants of the drugged wine that Logan had ordered brought for him. He would sleep until morning without waking. The Prince had thrown the bedclothes back and golden flickers of light danced across the bare skin of his back. The width of his shoulders belied his age, but his face, relaxed in sleep, was sweet and gentle. His lashes were long and dark against his cheek, his lips as softly rounded as a maiden’s. He had the faintest hint of facial hairs along his jaw and upper lip, guarded jealously despite its scarcity for the sign of manhood that it was. Yet the smudges seemed only to emphasize the lines and planes of his face, full of youth and innocence and beauty. 

Logan moved forward almost soundlessly, drawn despite himself. Seven years between them, enough so that they had never played together, rather Logan led and Sparrow—nay, _Adler_ followed. When had he first looked around and seen the worship in the younger’s eyes and played up to it, courted it? And then came to need it, like the very air he breathed. On his coronation day, he had looked out into the sea of faces and found his brother’s eyes, and his brother’s gaze had held his like a steadying lifeline. Then later, the Prince at his side in the War Room, offering no counsel but merely the comfort of his presence, as Logan struggled to be the King that his councilors and the kingdom wanted. Sitting at his right hand at table, needing merely to exchange a glance to know that Adler was amused at the lavender-gilded fops that glided through the court. The two of them together _felt_ right, in a way that no wife or lover ever could. Born into the same world and for the same purpose: to live up to the Hero-King, and to keep his kingdom safe. 

He sat down on the far side of the Queen’s bed with a sigh. “Ad,” he said softly. The Prince didn’t stir. He leaned back against the headboard and let his hand rest on his brother’s back. Still sleeping unclothed, he thought. So much distance between them in the past few years, distance that he suddenly needed, nay, longed to bridge. A single silk sheet was bunched around his brother’s midsection, with one leg cocked up and sideways, the sharp planes of his hip visible in the light. His skin was as warm and soft as silk and his tousled hair hid his face. 

His pulse was thudding in his ears and his loose dressing gown felt uncomfortably, stiflingly-hot. The fire was too high for such a warm night, for two such as they, strong young men in the perfect peak of maturity. His hand moved, seemingly without his own volition, trailing lower down his brother’s back and catching one finger under the tangled sheet and tugging it lower. It gave way, with barely a whisper, revealing the Prince’s rounded buttocks, bare and proudly up thrust in the firelight. He caressed one cheek, then the other, the pressure of his fingers making small indents in the flesh. His cock was suddenly, shockingly hard, making it difficult to think. He shifted to relieve the pressure in his groin and shrugged his gown off his shoulders impatiently. His brother did not shift or sigh or give any indication that his deep sleep was interrupted or even disturbed. 

He leaned over and kissed the soft skin of the Prince's hip, letting his mouth open against the fragrant skin and sucking lightly. Then he parted the pale globes of his ass until he could see the small ring between. Licked his own fingers and then ghosted them lightly over the pucker, brushing over it, and growing progressively bolder, with firmer touches until he dared to press his thumb against it, suppressing a groan of lust. 

Removed it and covered his thumb in saliva and pressed again, until the digit just began to slip inside. The Prince shifted suddenly, leading Logan to freeze in place. The younger man breathed heavier and arched his back and then stilled again, hips canted back toward him. Logan leaned forward and caught his breath at the sight of the Prince’s organ, hard and swollen and leaking slightly. 

Logan lay down and positioned himself so that he could clasp his brother's cock in one hand and place the other back on the seductive curves of his ass. His beautiful hole was flushed darker from the attention. Pushed his thumb firmly downward as he stroked Adler. The Prince’s hips jerked, simultaneously thrusting against his hand and pushing Logan’s thumb just past the ring of muscle, just barely inside. Logan had to close his eyes and take a long slow breath to keep from spilling immediately. Then he pressed downward on the rim, not daring to thrust forward harder and truly fuck him with his fingers, but just the smallest in and out movement, to open and prepare him. 

Less than a minute of the small movements and thrusts and then Adler was clenching around his thumb and his cock hardened further and spilled, spurts of come jetting over his fingers. The spasm let his thumb slip deeper than it had yet inside him, until the palm of his hand was flat against the curve of his buttocks. Logan waited, heart pounding, for the spasms to ease and then swiftly withdrew himself to the far side of the bed. The Prince sighed and seemed to melt into the feather mattress. Logan rolled over and went lightly to his feet and left, closing the door soundlessly behind him. When he took himself in hand in his own vast, cold bed, it was the smell of his brother’s come that had him clenching his teeth on moans before his climax. 

When his breathing slowed, a flush of shame swept over him. He had to stop this. These terrible impulses. His advisers had been pressing him to marry and perhaps he should. He snorted to himself. But in the end, that was the least of his problems. There was a very dark tunnel lying before him. If he...they lived. He could put off thoughts of marriage until...other matters had been dealt with. But even so, continuing as they were wasn’t fair to his brother. This would be the last time, that... He could not even finish the thought, because he knew that he would pass through that door again... And soon. His lovely, beautiful brother, just a breath away. He could not resist him, the sweet deliciousness of his body, soft and yielding in sleep. He finally pushed everything out of his mind and rolled over and clasped a pillow to him closely. And if part of him pretended that it was his brother, then that was a thought left un-examined. 

 

***

 

Prince Adler slid through the following months dream-like. Other than his new quarters, his life was much the same as it had always been, training with Sir Walter, seeing Elise occasionally and drowsing over dusty tomes of military strategy. If Albion ever went to war, he would be expected to be the royal son in the field, leading his brother’s armies. And if he were killed defending his brother’s throne, that would keep the inconvenient spare son from cluttering up the main succession. 

Although Logan showed no more signs of marrying than he had for the last several years. At first, he had claimed to be too young. Later, he claimed to be too busy. And now as his twenty-fifth year approached, anyone broaching the subject got a monarchical stare followed by a firm change of subject. 

His brother also began insisting that the Prince attend him at council meetings and meetings with that odious Hobson who really only seemed to be happy when he was extorting money from someone. Hobson and Reaver were much the same, to the Prince’s eyes, and he wondered why his brother gave both of them so much influence. Meetings and studies and weapons practice filled nearly all his time, from waking to sleep, leaving him little time to socialize with any of his own friends or with Elise. 

And then it happened. One morning, he awoke to hear the sounds of arguing outside his door. He yawned and stretched, feeling lassitude and a faint desire to simply roll over and lie abed longer. He was stiff from lying in one position all night. 

“His Majesty gave orders that the Prince is not to be disturbed,” he heard Eudon say. 

“Did His Majesty anticipate the Prince sleeping through a riot? Or worse?” Jasper snapped. Adler rolled out of bed and opened the door, revealing the two combatants facing off in his doorway. 

“Eudon, please. Of course, it’s all right for Jasper to come in,” he said, slightly bewildered. In truth, this was not the first time that he had had to speak so in order for someone to visit him. Logan’s idea of ‘security’ seemed to be to close the Prince up behind the four walls of his bedchamber and never let him out, unless it be to attend he, Logan, personally. And even when he did that, he rarely let Adler out of his sight for more than a minute. The Prince had tried slipping away to speak with Elise, only to have Logan raise his voice, asking “Where is our brother? His place is at our side,” which always left him feeling guilty and returning to Logan with murmured apologies. 

Jasper pushed past the guard with a haughty stare. Once inside, he closed the door securely and then went over and closed the other door, as well—the one that led to Logan’s bedchamber. Then he returned and took the Prince’s arm, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “Your Highness, have you seen or spoken with Elise recently?” 

Even though his tone was neutral, the Prince felt as if reprimanded. “No, but I’ve been so occupied.” 

Jasper stared at him for a long moment. “His Majesty keeps you close.” The words, even as unassuming as they were, made Adler flush. “Tell me, Your Highness, have you heard anything of the unrest in the city?” 

“No-oo,” Adler said hesitantly. 

Jasper went to his wardrobe and rummaged through it impatiently. “Get dressed. Quickly. I think that you need to be seen today, as you have not before.” He turned with a pair of breeches in his hands. “Perhaps Logan would listen to you.” 

Adler trailed resentfully after Jasper once he’d dressed, suppressing another yawn. The old butler dragged him down the kitchens, where the Prince tried to emphasize loyalty and obedience to his brother the King and now was taking him in search of Sir Walter. They found him at the Palace entrance, speaking with a gaggle of people dressed in poor threadbare clothing. 

The Prince was startled to see Elise, dressed in commoner’s clothing as well, deep in discussion with Sir Walter and another person, a stranger that he didn’t know. They all looked up as the Prince approached. Jasper exchanged glances with Sir Walter and nodded and left, spinning around with an almost audible huff. Again, Adler wondered what had upset the normally-tranquil manservant. 

He turned back to find Sir Walter looking at him measuringly. “Decided to get up today, did you?” 

The Prince ignored him, looking over to where Elise was standing. “Who are these people?” 

“Petitioners for your brother,” Sir Walter said. “Not that he’s likely to see them, poor sods.” 

The dark-haired man standing next to Elise smiled nervously. “I’m Lazlo, Your Highness. If I may speak freely—?” He paused and the Prince nodded shortly. “We must do something about the poverty in Albion,” he went on. “It’s worse now than I can ever remember it being. Small children forced into factory work, cruelly long hours for adults and anyone who protests is—is shown the door,” he finished with a quick look at Elise. “If the Prince would sign my petition, I know the King would consider it.” 

Elise left his side and came over to the Prince. “It’s been dreadful, these last few months,” she said quietly. Then she looked at him searchingly. “And you’ve been nowhere to be found.” 

Again, Adler felt reproached, although he hardly knew for what. “I’ve been better treated than most spare heirs,” he protested. “Logan wants me to be trained.” 

“Trained for what?” Elise asked. Adler had no reply for her. She sighed. “What do you think of the petition?” 

The Prince held out his hand and Lazlo gave it over. A moment’s reading and Adler was aghast. The language was ferociously inflammatory, blaming Logan for all the current ills of the kingdom, railing specifically against his ‘cruel taxation of the poor’, the ‘undeserved elevation of Reaver’ and His Majesty’s ‘honorless foreign mercenaries.’ It was unfathomable that he sign it, for his brother would see it as a sure betrayal. Not to mention that it was technically incorrect on several levels; his brother may have given Reaver a few monopolies, but his elevation had begun with the Hero-King, their father, not his brother. Logan hired additional troops after the attempt on his, Adler’s life, how hypocritical would it be for him to condemn Logan for that? Logan had warned him about the inflammatory and downright dishonest tactics used by so-called defenders of the poor and this proved him right. It was a shame that Elise had been taken in. He met Lazlo’s (if that was even his name) eyes and tapped the petition to his bum and then dropped it on the floor. 

Elise’s mouth tightened and she looked away. Lazlo laughed nervously and picked it up and bowed and backed away. Sir Walter watched impassively. “You’ve had your fun,” he rumbled. “Now it’s time we got to practice.” 

Adler followed, fuming silently. Some days it felt as if the only person who treated him as an adult was his brother. 

 

***

 

Logan stared at him coldly, as if he looked upon a stranger. “You wish to make these decisions, to hold the power of life and death? Very well. Then decide who will be punished: the leaders of the violent mob or this girl? The sentence will be death.” The words seem to hang breathlessly in the air while the small knot of ragged ‘ringleaders’ that Logan’s guards had brought in clutched each other and wailed. 

Adler barely took in Elise’s anguished “No, this can’t be!” while Walter pleaded. 

Logan’s eyes were set upon his own. He looked far more angry than Adler had ever seen him, his pale cheeks flushed with fury and his lips tight. “No, no, I can’t,” he whispered more to Logan than to anyone else in the room. 

“If you cannot, then I shall. They will all be executed,” Logan continued icily. 

Adler’s heart sank. With a flash of shamefaced knowledge, he suddenly knew that he did not care if the poor ragged souls embracing each other and weeping lived or died. They were so far from his sphere that they might as well be actors in a play. 

Elise glanced from him to the others. Her face had gone white with shock but her voice was steady. “Choose me. You can’t let him kill all of those people.” She might have been gambling that Logan would have second thoughts—she was young, pretty, well-born and well-liked in the castle—but she did not know his brother. Not as he did. He could not do it. 

But he could not say it, either, not with the folk at the other end of the room glancing timidly at him after hearing Elise’s words. Daring to hope. He lifted one shaky finger and pointed at them, and saw dull despair fill their faces. 

Elise shouted, “No, Adler, pick me!” and he could not look at her. 

Logan smiled coldly. “Take them away. Kill them now.” 

Elise was still protesting, even as a guard held her back. Walter started to speak and then subsided, shaking his head like an old lion, bewildered by the sudden turn of events. 

Adler was shaking. Taking in the looks on their faces, on Elise’s... He was a coward. He suddenly hated Logan for showing him that. “I will never forgive you for this,” he said, low. 

Logan looked at him evenly. “Then you will never forget it.” He snapped his fingers. “Now, all of you, leave us. Escort my brother to my chamber. We have much to discuss.” His tone seemed to sneer over the word ' _brother_ '. 

***

Adler paced around Logan’s bedchamber for the umpteenth time since his honor guard had dragged him here and flung him inside. The adjoining door to his own chamber was locked, and if he opened the door of Logan’s, the guards saluted politely and directed him to wait for his brother, the King. King. The word left a sour taste in Adler’s mouth. Their Hero-father would have never done such a thing as Logan had, today. He found himself thinking thoughts that would have been inconceivable just a few short weeks ago. Was his brother the rightful King? Could he be, after what Adler knew now? It felt like the most heartbreaking betrayal, to even turn the thought over in his mind. His beloved brother, closer and dearer to him that his father ever was, much less his long ago, barely-remembered mother. 

He flung himself down into Logan’s chair by the fire and helped himself to the wine that the guards had brought him. Gulped down a goblet, wishing that he dared empty the flask and seek the sweet oblivion of drunkenness. He just wanted to...forget. Forget the fears both for and of his brother, forget the worry that Elise would never forgive him. He spilt some wine on his dressing gown...er, Logan's dressing gown. Served him right. 

The slam of the door distracted him and he looked up to see Logan’s tall form silhouetted in the firelight. He saluted him wryly with the glass. “My brother, the King. Forgive me if I don’t get up.” 

Logan looked at him expressionlessly and then tugged over a footstool and sat down on it, close enough that their knees touched. Adler was suddenly reminded of afternoons in the garden, playing at tea or council. Whispering stories together. Logan reached out and took the goblet and set it on the side-table, before enfolding his hands within his own, large and warm and comforting. He didn't say anything and the silence stretched out between them until Adler felt compelled to break it. 

“How could you?” Adler asked, and to his horror, his voice broke a little on the last word and tears came to his eyes. 

Logan looked down, at their joined hands, and shed his Kingly persona, all at once seeming lesser, a thin man bent beneath a heavy robe. Like the brother that he knew once again. He frowned. “I did not want to,” he said. 

Adler tried to pull his hands away, but Logan simply gripped tighter. “What do you mean? Then why did you? Have you come to a point where you murder people simply for the fun of it?” 

Logan shook his head and closed his eyes as if the words pained him. “No. Never.” 

“Then what?” 

Logan spoke slowly. “You remember the old stories, stories of our father and his fight against evil? Evil's never destroyed, dear brother, merely delayed. The monsters are back."

Adler stared at him in amazement. "Whatever can you mean?"

Logan smiled tightly, his voice resonant. "On my voyage, I found that a monster had destroyed Aurora. Once it's run out of souls to devour, it is coming to Albion. If our army is not strong enough to fight it, then we will all die, as well.” 

Logan seemed completely sincere. “You’re joking,” he said suspiciously. “Well, it’s not funny.” 

Logan smiled bitterly. “It’s no joke, brother dear, brother mine. The taxes and Reaver’s monopolies were in order to raise the funds for the army. Pushing aside old Walter and Swifty? They don’t know enough to help us. They were never trained...for this kind of war.” 

Adler could hardly believe his ears. “Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly. 

Logan stood up and crossed the room. He withdrew a book from the shelves and brought it back. One section was dog-eared and much creased. It fell open in his hands to an illustration. A woman in a robe, with the striped hood drawn forward over her face. It was labeled _Theresa, the blind seer_. 

Adler recognized her. Logan touched the illustration’s hidden face thoughtfully. “I was never sure what to think of Father’s tales. Self-justification for taking the throne, in the name of magic? Hallucinations from an old injury?” He looked at Adler. “I never saw Father do magic, nor did you. Was the talk just a convenient rationalization after the fact? But when I ascended the throne, she came to me in a dream. She told me that it had always been my destiny to travel to Aurora and discover the fate that awaited us. _Only you can change the future, Logan_ , she told me. And she told me what I had to do, the loathsome actions that I must perform. In order to have even the merest chance of saving my people, they must hate me.” 

He hesitated and finally said, “If there is a chance, it is woefully slim. The treasury is lower than it should be and all seems hopeless. I think that no matter what I do, we are doomed. But I cannot manage alone, brother. Not if you hate me, too.” 

Adler’s head was whirling. It did not seem possible but... It did perfectly account for the changes in Logan, the changes that had been most acute since... “You discovered all this on your trip to Aurora?” 

Logan’s hands tightened on his. “Yes. The Crawler was most delighted to learn of an additional kingdom to despoil, more food for its endless appetites. Had I died in Aurora perhaps this would have never occurred.” He slid off the footstool to kneel at Adler’s feet, his face dark. “Or had I not gone to Aurora maybe the Crawler would be ignorant of Albion. And yet, she said it was my destiny. My destiny, my fault, my failure. She has shown me if the Crawler triumphs then I will rule over a kingdom of wraiths and ghosts, mocking me for my inability...” 

His anguish and despair were palpable and the Prince reached out to draw him close, seeking to comfort. Then something in Logan’s face changed and he seized Adler’s shoulders and pulled him into a long greedy kiss, his breathing speeding and his tongue forcing deeply into Adler’s mouth, drawing a smothered sound of protest from him. His heart began pounding madly even as his body responded. 

Then the hands were gone and Logan pulled away and covered his face with his hands. “Oh god,” he moaned. “You see, how the Darkness lives within me. I am tainted, evil...” 

Adler stared at him, his clothing disarranged, his mouth tingling from that passionate kiss. His brother’s kiss. He should denounce him, call the guards, or Sir Walter... And then what? That would inevitably lead to disgrace and dishonor to their family. Their father's legacy tainted by whispers of incest and insanity. Even if he were _merely_ an innocent victim, people would look at him. The Prince, despoiled by his own brother. And some would believe the worst, that he had been willing all along. 

Logan tugged the robe down over his chest with one hand. “Quickly. Kill me.” He reached toward Adler and he flinched involuntarily. Logan looked heartsick at that but only pulled Adler’s small dagger from its sheath and pressed the knife into his hands. “I deserve death,” he said huskily. “Kill me and take the throne for yourself.” 

Adler tried to pull away but Logan’s hands were like iron. “KIll me,” he repeated. His hands on Adler’s wrists drew him closer, until the point of the steel blade just dimpled the skin over his heart. His eyes met the Prince’s. “I am too weak. I cannot do it. Kill me, brother, I beg you. And—and forgive me.” 

“Brother,” Adler said and yanked away, his strength suddenly too sure for Logan to resist. “Logan, no.” He could see the pain in Logan’s eyes and anger for the blind seer flared up in his heart. He flung the dagger into the fire and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “If we die, we die together.” 

The Prince heard Logan’s sharp intake of breath and hesitated before adding, “Do you truly want me that much?” Wondering at it, at a desire so strong that it would lead a King to ruin.

Logan’s eyes slid away from his, but his fingers clenched on the material of the Prince’s loose dressing gown. Which was answer enough, Adler supposed. He was weary beyond measure. Was it only this morning that he had awoken with no more concerns than weapons’ practice and what treats he could wheedle out of Cook? 

He brought Logan’s hands to the belt of the gown. “Then you might as well,” he whispered. “If it means so much.” Logan waited only an instant before he yanked the belt loose and surged upward to capture Adler’s lips with his own. Adler felt as if he were watching the scene before the fire instead of participating in it. Mostly, he felt numb. The kingdom was doomed and magic had re-entered their lives—only to end them. Why not Logan, then? He had never wanted to die a virgin anyway. 

Logan’s face was alight with desire as he looked at the Prince. He removed his robe and laid him, naked, before the fireplace. Kissed his mouth and lower, suckled his nipples and his cock, until he was thrashing about and calling Logan’s name in a hoarse, needy voice that he barely recognized. And then his brother lifted his thigh and rubbed oil in the crack of his arse. Adler had a final moment of hesitation and fear. _Wait, stop_ , he wanted to say. But Logan gave him no chance for regrets, sliding inside him with a hard shove that left the Prince gasping. Tears came to his eyes and he tried to hide it but Logan took his hands away and held them. 

He smiled thinly, propped up on one elbow, cock buried inside his brother’s hole, and cast his eyes down over his body. He fingered one nipple carefully, and Adler caught his breath. “Oh my love, you are so responsive. Everything I dreamed of. I have waited so very long for you come to me—willingly.” 

He caught Adler’s face in his hands and kissed him again, then whispered. “You will sleep in my bed at night and sit at my side at court, my beloved brother. And when it is time to die, we will die together.” Then he thrust forward, hard and fast, a sheen of sweat on his face. When he was close, he wrapped one hand about Adler's cock and stroked him as Adler’s thoughts dissolved into incoherency. His brother, death and orgasm linked intimately together, until he hardly knew where one started and another ended. Once he had thought about a future filled with light, marriage and honorable service as his brother's adviser. Now he looked into the darkness that spawned the Crawler and climaxed with his brother’s name on his lips. 

_fin_


End file.
